Strawberry Cake
by Sushi Bowl
Summary: When Virginia gets into a taxi with a dangerous stranger, her life becomes a whirlwind of death, pain and pastries. WARNINGS: Strong language, not about the Joker.


Tiramisu is one of the only pastries with a two-sided history. It was intended as a dessert for children, complete with chocolate powder and ladyfingers. As the recipe grew older, chefs began to add things like coffee and rum, and it soon became a pastry only adults could enjoy.

--

I turned to the side and looked at my traveling companion.

His face was partially burned off. That was the first thing I noticed, of course. The second was that he was clutching a cheap metal coin (also partly scalded) like a brand new penny. It could have also been a knife.

I glanced up past his hand, past his expensive-looking suit with a bump in the left pocket (probably his wallet), until I found myself staring at his lips. _Seventeen_ wouldn't exactly call them kissable. He was smiling, stretching his face grotesquely. I examined the rest of him slowly, taking in the contrast between the cherubic half and the Corpse Bride part. When I reached his eyes, I observed that he was looking at me.

OH, _FUCK_.

"I- I'm rea- rel- relly sorry," My vocal cords had fallen down a flight of stairs. Relly sorry? "I di- didn't mean t- to sta- stare. I was l- looking out at th- the window. I like trees."

I'm sure he was convinced.

The taxi came to a stop at a red light, and his smile broadened. When he laughed, his face cracked, skin extending as if he had gotten stuck in a taffy puller.

"I have two faces, you noticed." Winking at me, his laugh softened. "It's okay. A lot of people gape. I'm a little sad when it's someone _as cute as you_."

I suddenly remembered I was wearing a Christmas present from a couple years ago. The dress with a panda bear on it. My alarm clock hadn't gone off until an hour later then it was supposed to, and I grabbed the first thing I could find in my closet. Gotham cabs don't wait for anyone, especially when you make the early morning commute.

"I- I'm new in town," I blushed. Redheads always go around looking like a bowl of strawberry ice cream. "Just moved in from Iowa."

I used to work for a small town paper in Ackley, where grandmother-sewn dresses had been appropriate. Newspapers sometimes do what's called national syncs, and reporters can get transferred to bigger papers. _Gotham Times_ wanted a photographer; I had jumped at the chance to leave my local culture column. County fairs have never really been my thing.

"I'm Harvey," Fantastic, now I knew his name. "I'm afraid I _scare_ people a little bit, so I work filing papers in the morning. I used to be an attorney."

There weren't any law firms where we were heading. There wasn't anything, actually, except for a television station, the Gotham Times offices and a fast food restaurant.

"I'm Vir- virgin." I tried to correct myself. "Fuck, I mean Virginia. N- not that I'm _not _a virgin, I- I'm just not named for that-"

Sometimes I shouldn't say words.

Harvey smirked, and loosened his grip on the trashed, silver coin.

"You see this coin?" Twisting it between his fingers (like he was showing it off) Harvey gazed at it pensively. "This coin can be an awful lot of fun, you know."

Unsure how to respond, my smile wavered.

"We're going to play a game now, Virginia." Harvey flipped the smoldered currency. It landed on the darker side, and suddenly I knew what the bulge in his pocket was.

--

The taxi driver wasn't paying any attention to what was going on in the back seat. I'm not sure he understood what was being said, as he sang quietly to himself in another language while he drove. He had headphones in his ears; his body swaying rhythmically.

"Pl- please don't kill me," I begged, as Harvey turned his gun off safety. "I- I'll do anything you want. Anything at all, just say the word and it'll-"

"Shut up," Harvey ordered as he smashed the gun against my forehead. "Now, Virginia, if you want to live you'll have to do a small favor for me."

"_Anything_," I gasped out. My lungs were letting me breathe in air in droves; my body felt like it was going to shut down.

"We're heading over to the television station right now," Harvey tapped his firearm against my temple. "And we're going to let the entire world know Harvey Dent isn't dead."

The taxi studded to a stop, and Harvey threw a fifty at the unaware driver. I used this as a chance to wrangle away from his grip, unlatch the door, and get myself the hell out of this taxi cab.

He caught me, of course.

"You're quite the little _pistol_, aren't you?" Harvey whispered angrily in my ear. We were outside, with a few innocent civilians (um, including me) milling around. He had the gun pressed to my back and an arm slung around my shoulder. To other people, we might have looked like a couple. Except for, you know, the half-massacred features on Harvey's behalf.

"What are you going to do?" I felt the revolver rubbing against my spine. Terrified, I continued. "Are y- you going to k- kill anybody?"

Harvey ignored me as he shoved the door to the studio open. People inside were setting up ­­for the morning news report, positioning cameras and serving coffee. Hazelnut seemed like a pretty popular choice, judging from the creamers thrown on the ground. My stomach dropped.

"Alright, everybody _listen up_."


End file.
